


Sherlock the King of the Forrest

by LadyGrimReaper



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Forest Sex, Forests, Frottage, Little Red Riding John, M/M, Mates, Sherlock claims the hell out of John, Sherlock looking great in leaves, True Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 19:03:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6671194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGrimReaper/pseuds/LadyGrimReaper





	Sherlock the King of the Forrest

Sherlock the King of the Forrest

Sherlock Prompt!

 

Sherlock, the mighty Lord of the Forest, comes across young virgin John and decides to claim him as his mate. I want majestic, antlered Sherlock and awed John. I may have been reading a lot of Fawnlock recently.

 

I’m having trouble finding this prompt.. But you know.. I may haven’t posted it yet cause it was going to be a shameless self fill?

 

****

 

John was wearing, as ridiculous as this sounds, a red jacket. His school trousers were stained with grass and dirt. He was leaning against a large tree, boot and sock slipped off to reveal a quite swollen red ankle. Severely twisted.

 

He could hear the trickling of water nearby but he would have to walk a while away before getting to it. He hadn’t passed the stream for more than five minutes before a root had snatched his foot out from underneath him.

 

Butterflies were alighting on his nose and blond hair, playfully showing off their colours while dancing with each other. Frogs and toads were singing to each other happily. Leaves swayed gently in the breeze. 

 

Sixteen year old John Watson was stranded. In the Forest. Damn his luck.

 

From the corner of his eye he caught the sight of a point of an antler, but then it flicked out of sight. He turned his head in a quick movement to look in that direction, swallowing against a suddenly dry mouth.

 

Oh god, he didn’t want to get gored.

 

A bird sang happily in the tree above his head and he bit his lip, rummaging around his spot on the forest floor for a walking stick of some sort.

 

Abandoning the thought of finding a large enough stick close to him, he tucked the empty boot and sock into his rucksack and braced himself on the tree. Hissing loudly, he tried not to move the injured ankle while getting standing and stabilizing himself on his one working foot. Taking a deep breath he hopped on the one foot until he faced away from the tree, only to jerk back into the tree when he came face to collarbone with  _somebody_.

 

“ _BLOODY FUCKING SH_ …” He screamed in panic as he shoved himself back into the tree. His eyes were wide as he took in the owner of that collarbone. 

 

That somebody had a human form. Rather slender, but still gigantic in height and musculature. He didn’t know how to explain it. He whimpered as the  being, _God, Fairy King of the Forest_ ,  followed him and pinned him to the tree with long, well-built arms. From afar this... male... wouldn’t have been intimidating, long and lanky and lean. But up close, the intimidation factor was that he was svelte. That sort of underestimated hidden strength that would blind side. The being was approximately 6 feet from toe to top of his head - John sucked in a sharp gasp as he leaned even heavier against the tree in something akin to fear. On top of the humanoid’s head were black curls, a pair of furry ears, and a  _massive_ set of antlers. They were intimidating. They looked to be at least 12 point antlers and the neck that held them up was a long, densely muscled neck. John’s gaze continued its trail down to the eyes.

 

Gray eyes burned deep into what felt like his brain, as the God, being, King, stared at him with the utmost intent and focus.

 

He leaned onto his forearms, and carefully bowed his head, scenting John’s neck; he scented the line from collarbone to neck to jawline, and from jawline to right behind the ear.

 

“Um, what are you- **OW **! What was that for?!” He stared at the Fairy King - for lack of anything better to call him - as the latter grinned, revealing gleaming teeth and two sets of sharp and lethal incisors. “What, you’re a bloody vampire now? Not only do you have to be a Fairy King, but now you like blood now?!”

 

“No, not Fairy, but the King bit is somewhat right.” The voice was so deep that it seemed to resonate in the forest and vibrate its way down John’s spine.

 

The King was so close to the young man, that he could feel the blazing heat coming from his core.

 

“You make an acceptable mate.” The King stepped back, pacing back and forth looking him up and down. “You have the spirit of a healer, but also of a warrior.  _Perfect_.”

 

John’s mind had gone blank at the word mate. He now sputtered in indignation, and slapped the bark of the tree to get the being’s attention.

 

“Oi! I’m only sixteen! I don’t want to get  _married _!” John couldn’t believe this guy. Was he bonkers? Of course he was. He had an antler hat or something. And ears. And was dressed in  _vines_ , _moss_ , and _leaves_ as if they were a fashion statement.

 

Though if he admitted to himself, the vines lovingly hugged the strong abdomen wrapping from neck to iliac crest, dipping teasingly into what looked like leggings made of bits of leaf and moss. The being’s feet were elegant and large. As was his hands. God… the prick on this man must be enormous.

 

_STOP. John, stop it! Where the bloody fuck has your mind gone, John!_ He chastised himself for letting his mind string itself along like that.

 

“And I’m centuries old, nice to meet you. I’m Sherlock. I of course cannot tell you my full name; full names have power. But you may call me Sherlock. And of course when our bond is consummated, you may call me mate or husband.” 

 

Sherlock’s gaze locked on the injured foot of his mate and he turned to glare at the offended root that caused such damage.

 

The root seemed to shrink back in on itself in apology. He wouldn’t be surprised if Mycroft had enchanted the thing to act on his behalf. He sniffed at the tree and strode up to his mate with a graceful leap and swooped his mate off his injured foot.

 

John immediately bristled up, wiggling and trying to escape from the bloody bridal position.

 

Sherlock chuckled, his chest actually vibrating with the deepness of his voice as he looked down at his young mate. “You truly are delectable, John. You smell very good. Mint, earth, and  virginal .” The last word caused John to blush and immediately stop struggling as the King approached an archway caused by naturally entwining trees.

 

He stepped through, and immediately John had to close his eyes because everything had somehow gotten  _brighter _.

 

The forest was literally brighter and more vibrant. There were several creatures from fairy tales and from the lore and oh my god, it seemed as if John Watson had landed himself the most gorgeous and fit one. Sherlock had scowled at all the gathering creatures until they got the hint and literally disappeared.

 

****

 

John was startled awake when he was gently placed on a literal bed of furs and pelts. 

 

He glanced around with startled eyes at what looked to be a comfortable cave, lighted with  orbs  of something luminescent, filled with odds and ends and decorated with what seemed to be potion equipment.

 

Sherlock stood back up, the very tip of his antlers barely avoiding brushing a stalactite and stalked over to his laboratory.

 

“I have to heal that ankle, John.” John watched in fascination as the man took a grinding stone to his own antlers and scrubbed at a point. He collected the shavings into a bowl and bent over the table to mix a poultice.

 

John tried to continue looking but his gaze kept being drawn back to the mysterious stranger with [real] antlers. 

 

Sherlock’s back. It deserved its own sentence in John’s head. Yes. God the man’s back was relaxed, but held a considerable density of muscle. His shoulder blades stood out, and a few vertebrae did as well, but the individual muscles of Sherlock’s back tensed and bulged and relaxed with his work and fuck… John had always secretly admiring his mates that had that  dip  right before the buttocks. John could feel his trousers getting a bit tight and he discreetly adjusted himself.

 

Over at the table, Sherlock’s nostrils were flaring as he smelled the pheromones John was releasing and he held himself back from climbing into that bed of furs and  ruining  both the furs and John.

 

Once the poultice was done, Sherlock carried it to the bed and crouched before John. A flash of silver and a quick tearing sound and John’s trousers were off of his legs and being torn into strips by Sherlock’s lithe hands.

 

John squealed, disappearing underneath the covers; or rather trying to. He didn’t quite bite back the yelp in time to stifle it and Sherlock stopped cutting bandages to level a hard stare at him.

 

Kingly indeed.

 

John eventually stopped wriggling around and stayed atop the covers of Sherlock’s bed; Oh fucking hell he was in Sherlock’s bed; his pants were still somewhat obscenely tented from his earlier thoughts.

 

Sherlock had dipped a few of the bandages into the poultice, and gently wrapped them around the swollen ankle. He then took the drier bandages and secured the poulticed ones to the ankle.

 

John couldn’t help but whimper when he felt the long slender fingers touch his burning skin. The sprain was severe and he would have to keep off the foot for an indeterminate time.

 

Sherlock concentrated for a moment and a brilliant light surrounded his antlers before they magically retracted into a pair of raised nubs on the top of his head. He meticulously rearranged the furs around John and him and spooned the shorter male with his longer body.

 

Sherlock tucked his face into John’s neck and murmured. “I’m holding off mating with you as long as possible seeing as you are hurt. However, my brain sees you as mate and wants to consummate as soon as possible. I won’t be able to hold it off much longer John.”

 

John gaped at the fur around him. “But we just met! And I have to go to school on Monday. Sherlock! I can’-”

 

The man’s long limbs weighed him down, an inaudible command to stay right where he was.

 

John tried to speak up but suddenly Sherlock nipped at his neck and he quieted immediately, the protest draining from his form.

 

The medicinal poultice worked wonders; there was only a dull ache from his ankle and he was incredibly sleepy.

 

##

 

John awakened in slight pain, the ankle throbbing angrily. Other than the ankle, he was incredibly comfortable cuddling against a hot form. He turned into the form, careful of his ankle and nuzzled against it sleepily, still half asleep.

 

There was a deep throaty purr that practically vibrated John and he awakened fully to see miles of muscled neck. 

 

He blushed and tried to untangle himself from the man but his ankle vehemently protested with a sharp reminder.

 

“You should be grateful that your ankle needs it’s bandaging changed. I would have had you just now, if not.” The King murmured gently untangling himself from John and heading towards the workbench.

 

John drifted between consciousness until he felt a light tug on his blankets, revealing his bare legs. 

 

While Sherlock changed the bandages, he let out a hum as he felt those long fingers on his skin.

 

The fingers spread their trails up his shin, on either knee, to his thighs. John could not help but release several soft sighs and noises in appreciation.

 

An elegant nose nudge his cheek. The baritone voice made John shiver. “ It’s getting more difficult to hold myself back John. The consummation of taking on a mate is extremely important…” 

 

John moved his head and brushed his lips against the plush lower lip of Sherlock’s, cutting him off. John kissed him shyly, body held unnaturally still, not knowing what to do.

 

Sherlock gave a small grunt, leaning into the kiss, pressing his waist between John’s legs and stretching out on top of the blond.

 

John gave a startled gasp, his legs trying to snap closed, but they were blocked by the lean muscle of Sherlock. They breathed each other’s air for a moment, both pairs of eyes closed.

 

The dark haired man’s voice rumbled in his chest. “ Don’t surprise me like that, again, John. I cannot be held responsible for my actions if I break my former statement about waiting until you are fully healed.” 

 

John blushed a stunning color of red, his voice cracking a bit as he stuttered through an apology. Sherlock paid no heed and instead started to roll his hips against John. John being only sixteen, a hot blooded male, and already aroused, moaned up at Sherlock uncontrollably, his young body undulating against his without any conscious thought. Sherlock’s leaved trousers were rustling against John’s denims, the fabric between them doing nothing to hide how hot, heavy and hard they both were. John’s keens urged Sherlock onward, the verbal appreciation making him more aroused in turn and the later completely covered the former from head to toe, rubbing his scent all over John.  John was clueless, lost in the pleasure and the frottage, hoping for more even as his body heated up and the delicious friction became almost  too much .  Before long, John was a complete mess of hypersensitive nerves, sweat, aching, need, longing, lust, and Sherlock, majestic and  big  , towered over him, drinking in all of those feelings and sensitivities, and it became  too much   with Sherlock looking at him like that with those piercing eyes and he erupted inside his pants with a loud, unashamed moan that bordered on being painful. While John was in the midst of his orgasm and closed-eyed happiness, Sherlock had tugged open his trousers and fished his cock from within. A couple of long fingered, harsh strokes and he came without a sound, watching with fascinated eyes as his seed  spilled on John’s clothing. Paying no attention to the mess he gracefully flopped down onto the smaller man-child and nuzzled into him with a deep rumbling hum.  “You’re marked as mine, John.”

 

John only moaned in response, blissful with the feel of his Sherlock pinning him down in place.

 

Sherlock content and sated for now,  gave his mate a small smirk, whispering in his ear. “Wait until you’re with my child. It’ll feel one hundred fold better.”

 

****

 

 

 

 


End file.
